Sunday, June 19, 2011

Seng Guan Temple hall

where a gilded Buddha peaks
behind your back
where you look
is it nowhere or nearer
still I hold this in focus, steady
it becomes. It comes to me
an aperture tunnels a surface
that peeks into itself, a bottle
mathematicians fondly name after Klein.
Not much knowing nor arrived
in mind I hold it as a calyx
having no outside or inside, just
bounded, there resides that day
closing inward how can it
not find into another, then into this
the world being tendered
the night could not but open
into its scent, collapse of light in myself
reversing in spheres until they are walls
thinned in the lost distance to be won
before the poem on love is written.


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